


Clank

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Comedy, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Stiles, Theft, angry flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Derek Hale is the bane of the office, showering them all in obnoxious memos, and Stiles is sick of it. Sick of it to the point of maybe doing something a little rash... like holding Derek's lunch hostage. No one ever claimed Stiles knows how to handle his crushes on assholes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [tackygoldring](http://tackygoldring.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and based on [this image series](http://imgur.com/gallery/p1Km5).
> 
> Betaed (and cheered on) by the wonderful [Whitmerule](http://whitmerule.tumblr.com/). Love ya. <3

It's some kind of insanity, Stiles is sure of it. The same kind of shitty lack of impulse control that got him into detention on a weekly basis all through school, even though his grades were awesome and he actually liked school for the most part. There's just... something in him that makes his sense of self-preservation check out completely when the correct button is pushed.

 

 _And Derek fucking Hale has pushed that button for the last time_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he stares into the office fridge at the sandwich on the middle shelf, neatly labeled ”Derek”.

 

It's not that he doesn't like Derek. Hell, Derek is exactly the kind of asshole Stiles would love to team up with against the world in glorious saltiness forever and ever, amen, but... when that asshole mastery is turned on Stiles? Yeah, suddenly it's not so much fun.

 

It's the work of a _second_ of poor judgment to swipe the sandwich and casually saunter back to his cubicle. It tastes like _victory_.

 

In Stiles' defense, he does feel bad about it almost immediately afterwards. So he goes out on his now unnecessary lunch break to buy some random fruits, and leaves them in a pile in the break room, with a post-it announcing they're up for grabs.

 

He regrets his charity when it takes Derek less than a day to send out yet another obnoxious memo. It has several paragraphs. And bullet points. And it's the sixth memo this week. Screw it, Stiles steals his sandwich the next day too.

 

Three memos and three sandwiches later, Stiles enters the break room mid-morning to find a note pinned to the fridge. He doesn't actually read it at first, because for one thing it's in comic sans, _ew_. But once he's gotten the drink he came for, he happens to catch a few words and almost chokes on his water.

 

” _To the person who keeps stealing my sandwiches (Turkey and Swiss with mayo on rye),_

 

_This is ridiculous. We are all full-grown adults, not children. Please take responsibility for your actions and stop stealing other people's property!!!”_

 

Stiles has to stare at the note for several minutes, because it's so weird. It's obviously from Derek, but he's gotta be infinitely more pissed than Stiles ever imagined, because while his memos are all supremely annoying and overly anal, they're also always painfully correct. He obviously didn't stop to even do a cursory edit before printing it. The extra exclamation points are kind of a hint as well.

 

This is the kind of thing that would perhaps make normal people rethink their actions and possibly even consider apologizing. Or at least feel bad.

 

But Stiles isn't normal people. Shit like this makes Stiles want to _poke the fucking bear_. It's like the sign on a big red button that says _do not press_. Stiles has never been able to resist the temptation to do the exact opposite of demands. He'd be a disaster in the army.

 

So instead of returning the sandwich hidden in his desk drawer for when he gets hungry, he goes back to his desk and starts typing out a response.

 

” _Dear Turkey and Swiss on Rye_ ,” he types, feeling stupidly clever in his haze of rebellious impulsiveness. ” _I have your precious sandwich, it's safe. For now. Put 10 dollars on the plate in the fridge or you'll never see it undigested again_.”

 

He prints it, making sure to use Greenberg's print code, just in case, because he's not a sheriff's kid for nothing, and waits for an opportune moment to dart into the break room and tape it onto the fridge. It makes him feel damn near giddy, and he skips back to his desk, catching a few strange looks from neighboring cubicles.

 

The beauty of it all is that Stiles works on the same floor as the break room. Derek does not, and has to take the stairs up every time, and the self-closing door to the staircase makes a perfectly audible _clank_ every time it's pushed open. It's not directly in Stiles' line of sight, but there's a small gap between the cubicles on the path between the staircase door and the break room, and all Stiles has to do is peek at it whenever the door clanks open to see when his note might be found.

 

Derek must be either pissed as hell or very hungry, because it's barely ten minutes later when the clank sounds, and Stiles catches a glimpse of Derek's stupid gelled hair as he stomps by on his way to the break room. There's barely enough time to count to ten before Derek is literally running past again, and even the clank of the door sounds angry.

 

It really, really should not make Stiles this giddy. God, he needs a life. Or professional help.

 

He happens to be on the phone the next time the door opens, so he misses the entrance, which bums him out, but he catches a brief glimpse of angry stomping as Derek leaves, and it's almost unbearable having to wait until he's fairly sure Derek is back at his desk before he can go look at what might be the next step in this weird-ass feud.

 

It's better than he could have possibly imagined.

 

” _Dear Sandwich Thief,_ ” all capitalized and everything, like a worthy foe damn well should be. ” _Please grow up and just return my sandwich! This is very unprofessional! If I ever find out who's doing this I won't hesitate to CONTACT HR!!_ ”

 

The whole thing is so beautiful Stiles wants to take it home and fucking frame it. He can almost _feel_ how Derek gets progressively more angry with every sentence until finally imploding in a glory of exclamation points and capital letters. It's the best day at work Stiles has ever had at this shitty desk job.

 

It's getting close to lunch time, and Stiles is a little torn on whether he shouldn't just eat the sandwich now and teach Derek a lesson in hostage negotiation. But then he gets a better idea and grabs a plate and some cutlery to take back to his desk. He ignores at least three phone calls as he sets things up just right, and snaps a picture of Derek's sandwich, sliced in half and a corner cut off, held up teasingly at the camera.

 

” _Dear Turkey and Swiss_ ,” he heads the next note, attaching the picture front and center. ” _For every hour you continue to refuse my demands I'll remove another bite of this sandwich. Please take this seriously. We are professionals after all._

 

 _\- Sandwich Thief._ ”

 

Delivering the note ends up being a little tricky, because this close to lunch people are starting to trickle in, so he rolls up the sheet and tucks it into his sleeve as he heads towards the break room, and fiddles with the water dispenser until there's a brief gap in the flow of people, many of whom stop and giggle at the notes on the fridge, which fills Stiles with petty glee.

 

As soon as the room is empty he has the note out, and he maybe shouldn't have stuck pieces of tape to his underarm, because they definitely yank out a few hairs as he pulls them off, but it's quick work to put up the note, and he steps away from the fridge just in time to almost smack face first into...

 

Derek.

 

”Woah, sorry dude, didn't see you there,” Stiles says nervously, but Derek doesn't even see him, eyes locked on the fridge, and Stiles is blessed by the heavens above, because he gets to see from literally inches away what it does to Derek.

 

Now, Stiles is self-aware enough to realize that despite the unfortunate feud he finds Derek stupidly attractive, and somehow the angry clench of his thick eyebrows doesn't really hurt that impression at all. In fact, it's kinda hot how he goes pink across his nose, curls his lip almost like a snarl and flares his nostrils as he reads, turning on his heel without even acknowledging Stiles at all, and stomping across the cubicle forest so hard Stiles would be willing to bet plaster is falling off the downstairs ceiling.

 

Stiles watches him stomp off and almost crash into some poor soul exiting the stairwell, and it's satisfying in a major way, so Stiles allows himself a moment to just stay there, leaning on the door jamb, and enjoying the whole thing. He hasn't even returned to his desk again by the time Derek is back, a minute and a half later, angrily slapping a new sheet of paper to the fridge.

 

” _Sandwich Thief,_

 

 _Why are you doing this???_ ”

 

It almost makes Stiles feel bad. Almost. Because it really does sound like Derek is reaching despair rather than anger, and the whole thing is only fun as long as both parties have their fighting spirit. Stiles isn't out to deliberately hurt anyone.

 

”Do you know who's doing this?!” Derek suddenly snaps at him, and Stiles jumps, having almost forgotten that Derek is even in the room.

 

”Bwuh! Uhm. No, no, sorry, dude. They've got style, though, right?” he adds with a wink, and it's like waving a red rag in front of a bull. Derek's left eye literally twitches, and Stiles actually worries for Derek's blood pressure for a moment.

 

”Style?! This asshole doesn't even have basic goddamn manners! When I find out who it is I'm gonna have their sorry ass _fired!_ ”

 

Aaaaand there goes any sympathy Stiles was starting to have. There it goes, flying off to fucking Neverland.

 

”Well,” Stiles says slowly. ”Maybe if you didn't have such a gigantic stick up your ass about literally everything, maybe people wouldn't steal your stuff.”

 

Derek stares at him, mouth falling open a little before he catches it. ”I don't have- am I really the only person in this whole company who cares about procedure?!”

 

”... yes.”

 

There's a moment of baffled silence before Derek rolls his eyes and stomps off again without even bothering to actually end the conversation or anything. _Rude_.

 

Obviously fueled by rage – and possibly also hunger – there's a new anal retentive memo up less than five minutes after lunch. _Someone_ obviously spent their lunch break on activities unrelated to eating, and sadly not choosing the alternative of maybe jerking off to release some pent up frustration. Too bad, it would probably have lowered the tension levels of the whole goddamn department.

 

Stiles eats his own lunch of leftover lasagna from home, and composes a new response to take back to the break room along with his plate.

 

” _Tick tock, T-Swiss_ ,” over an image of the sandwich, now having a bit missing. ” _Tick. Tock_.”

 

It gets busy after lunch, due in no small part to the memo that suddenly requires Stiles to re-name roughly fifty documents according to new and dumbass standards, obviously pulled directly out of Derek's tight ass, so Stiles is more than ready to enjoy the fruits of his petty messages by the time he gets a chance to breathe again.

 

But instead of another glorious adventure in comic sans and rage, there's a new font and a new player. It's a message from HR to stop the ridiculous fight, and Stiles is frankly disappointed. He never took Derek for a quitter.

 

In his disappointment he doesn't even bother with a decent response. Just prints ” _Buy me a pizza_ ,” because frankly the company owes him big time for all the goddamn overtime he never gets paid for.

 

HR is its usual brand of uncaring and replies with an even shorter ” _No._ ”

 

Stiles misses Derek now, frankly. So he goes back to his desk to poke the bear some more. He eats most of the first half of the sandwich, but even though it's really good it's also gone kinda stale and dry now, which inspires him for his next step.

 

” _By the way... I'm not even going to eat it. Just gonna chew it up and spit it out,”_ he types, and puts another image of the last half of the sandwich up underneath. ” _How does that make you feel?_ ” he adds, just be completely obnoxious.

 

It's mid-afternoon by the time Derek stomps by again, and most likely someone already told him what's on the fridge, because he's already got a new note in hand. Secure in the knowledge that Derek doesn't know it's him, Stiles darts up to follow him to the break room, unreasonably excited that Derek took the bait.

 

” _You're the worst!!_ ” is what he's slamming onto the fridge, and Stiles can't help but grin as Derek turns around.

 

”What the hell are you smirking at?”

 

”Nothing. Looks like someone's maybe pulling your pigtails, is all,” Stiles says smugly, and Derek's jaw ticks.

 

”First of all that's a bullshit term that should just die before it normalizes the behavior of one more school-yard bully making some girl's life hell,” Derek snarls, and Stiles is reminded abruptly why he usually likes Derek. ”And second, if this is someone's idea of flirting then I fucking pity them, because there's no way they're ever getting laid.”

 

Stiles feels like he should be offended, but somehow all it does is make him grin, because Derek is still totally hot when he's riled up like this. ”Well, you never know, maybe they're just really into angry sex, and this is like foreplay to them.”

 

”Christ,” Derek huffs. ”Not that you're making any sense right now, but if that really was the case, then they're gonna be disappointed, because I'm not into that.”

 

”Too bad. You've got that whole angry hot thing going on,” Stiles says, and sends a cheeky wink over his shoulder as he wanders back to his desk, feeling Derek's eyes on him the whole way.

 

This would be a perfect place to stop the whole thing. He's already gotten almost a full day of fun out of it, he's seen first hand the effect of his words, and he even got a decent semi-flirt on with Derek. And he's also definitely risking getting caught the longer he keeps this going, considering he damn near outed himself to Derek. It should be enough. But somehow it just isn't, and before he knows it, Stiles is composing a new message.

 

” _Oh my dear T-Swizzle_ ,” he types, aware that he'll probably regret his ridiculous word choices later, but too jacked up to care, currently. ” _I'm so very far from being the worst. Mankind's flaws can't be judged on such a simple spectrum as that. Open your eyes. You lash out as such pettiness, but ignore the hideous nature of the world at large. There is a hunger, my dear Turkey and Swiss on Rye, a hunger that is spreading from the deepest darkest pits of this hellish corporate chasm. This sandwich is the birthcry of a new era, and when the revolution finally comes, pitiful vagrants like yourself will be the first to be devoured._ ”

 

He spends what is definitely too much time on arranging a plate full of crumbs and a tiny piece of cheese to properly illustrate the appropriate amount of sandwich devouring, despite the fact that the last half of it is now in the trash, and snaps a picture to add to the note.

 

” _The deed is done. Weep for the world you once knew. For it is but crumbs upon the sill of despair. Soon to be swept away by the righteous gusts of Change_.”

 

He feels clever as all hell, and pretty much floats to the break room, high on everything the day has had to offer so far. And if composing this masterpiece hadn't already made it to the high point of his day, getting the last word definitely would, because Stiles happens to know that Derek clocks out at exactly four PM every day, and that's only five minutes away.

 

Sticking so hard to a schedule is actually something Stiles envies Derek. Somehow Stiles always gets roped into overtime with no extra pay, but Derek is a rock. He's unmovable. He takes no shit. Which is probably why he has no problem pissing off literally the whole company on a daily basis with his endless memos. Frankly, Stiles mostly just thinks Derek needs a good fuck. And maybe Stiles has on occasion allowed himself to imagine scenarios where he could be the one to help Derek out with that little problem. Maybe. Okay, definitely. Because Stiles loves shitheads with strong wills and no fucks left over to give. If they're hot it's really just bonus points.

 

He settles down at his desk with a sigh as the clock ticks closer to four. He might as well try and catch up on a few of the things he definitely slacked on during his feud with Derek, and he opens up a couple of documents on his shitty work PC, watching the goddamn wait cursor circle, like a mocking approximation of the ouroboros of pointlessness that is his life. There's a small chance he might be exactly as over-dramatic as his dad always accused him of being. But fuck it, drama combats boredom in Stiles' opinion.

 

As the wait cursor spins on, Stiles wheels himself to the nearest window, which is in the neighboring cubicle. It's already empty, because Kyle is a slacker who leaves early every single goddamn day, and he so much does not deserve to have a window. But it's okay, because that means Stiles can prop his elbows on the sill and watch the lucky bastards who don't have overtime leave this prison of near-minimum wage drudgery. He doesn't see Derek anywhere, which probably means he missed him. Bummer. Stiles can't say he generally hates to see him go, but he always loves to watch him leave.

 

”Staying late?”

 

Stiles whirls around, not believing his own ears, because that was definitely Derek's voice, several minutes after four. He's apparently not imagining things, because there's Derek, leaning on the wobbly partition between Stiles' cubicle and the path down the middle of the room, looking weirdly chill for a guy who's been yanked around all day. It makes several alarm bells go off in Stiles' brain, and he wheels himself slowly back to his desk.

 

”Yeah. I generally am.”

 

”Funny, you don't strike me as a guy who cares about making a good impression,” Derek says, sounding almost dangerously calm, and yeah, something's definitely about to go down.

 

”Well... no, but since I'm frequently threatened with the pink slip, I generally don't feel like I have a choice,” Stiles admits. He's aware it's something he brings on himself for the most part, because he simply can't help but aggravate people, even his superiors. And, technically, Derek is one of them, which abruptly reminds Stiles why his little game was a supremely bad idea.

 

Derek huffs. ”Maybe if you stopped pissing people off on a daily basis you wouldn't get so much shit.”

 

”That's like asking a fish not to swim, Derek.”

 

”Yeah. I'm starting to get that,” Derek says, and then takes something out of his back pocket. It's a rolled up tube of paper sheets, consisting of their entire exchange of the day, little tape corners flapping around as Derek taps it rhythmically on the edge of the partition.

 

Stiles watches the tapping for a few seconds, and swallows a rather huge lump in his throat. ”Are you gonna have me fired?”

 

”I dunno yet.”

 

The computer is finally ready for Stiles to start working, but he's frankly not prepared to do even a second of work he doesn't have to if Derek is really about to fire him. Not that Derek really can, but he can recommend it, and all things considered it's probably more than enough to have Stiles finally booted.

 

”I wouldn't really blame you if you did,” Stiles admits. ”I should probably apologize, though, I guess.”

 

Derek purses his lips, considering. ”Well, that depends. Do you actually regret any of it?”

 

He could lie, of course, and maybe if it was anyone other than Derek, Stiles would. But Derek is the kind of jerk that Stiles feels a kinship with, and he doesn't _want_ to lie to him. And if he's gonna get fired, so be it. ”No, not really. You're being a douchebag with all the memos.”

 

”It's literally my job, Stiles,” Derek says, rolling his eyes.

 

”To be a douchebag? Well, you're a great fit.”

 

”No, dumbass. It's my job to optimize the company. Numbers have tanked in the past few years because of slacking and poor time management, and, dare I say it, a disturbing number of breaks during the day,” he adds with a smirk that makes Stiles waver between wanting to strangle him or jump him.

 

”But you could be a little nicer about it! Pretend you understand us pathetic peasants at all!” Stiles argues, waving his arms around, because he simply can't help it when he get fired up about something.

 

”Nicer,” Derek asks flatly, no inflection whatsoever.

 

”Yeah, nicer! Like maybe the occasional indication that you don't actually enjoy cracking the whip.”

 

”But I do. It's the only thing that gives my sad existence meaning,” Derek says, and it's exactly that kind of snark that gives Stiles conflicted boner after conflicted boner.

 

”Surprise, surprise,” Stiles huffs. ”But, seriously, people would hate you a lot less if you were a little human sometimes.”

 

”And people would hate _you_ a lot less if you stopped being a little shit.”

 

Stiles snorts. ”I'm aware of my problem, at least. You don't even seem to care.”

 

”I do. And if you could stop being a dick for five seconds, maybe you'd realize that I write just as many memos to the upper levels as I do to the lower ones. Including ones about shit like blackmailing people like you into overtime for no pay. Which reminds me, you should be getting overtime bonus for the last couple of months on your next paycheck.”

 

There's no stopping it, Stiles' jaw drops wide open, flies could just zoom right in, no problem. Derek was already attractive to him when all Stiles knew was that he was an anal retentive jerkwad with excellent snark abilities, but being faced with this action of sheer do-goodery is almost too much to bear. And Derek seems to be aware of Stiles' crisis, because he just smirks, damn him.

 

”I believe the words you're looking for are _gee, thanks, Derek, how nice of you_.”

 

”Fuck, I wanna blow you so badly right now, I don't even care if you fire me,” is what Stiles says instead, because his filter is bad enough on any given day, there's no saving it with this kind of blind-siding.

 

Gratifyingly, this makes _Derek's_ mouth drop open, and he crushes the paper tube in his hand. ”Uhh. I wasn't... uh... what?”

 

”What?” Stiles repeats, because his brain is kinda stuck on a blowjob loop right now, and Derek's open mouth and damp lips is just giving him _ideas_.

 

”Were you actually serious? Was this whole thing foreplay to you?”

 

”Uhm. Well. I didn't mean for it to be. But, uh. I guess. Yeah, a little bit.”

 

”Even though you'd decided I was a complete asshole?”

 

”Yeah. I never said I make good life choices, Derek.”

 

Derek lets out a shocked snort of laughter. ”No, obviously not.”

 

Stiles can't help but smile back at him, because it turns out Derek Hale has a gorgeous smile. Who even knew? ”Look, to be fair I didn't actually think you were the devil. Just a guy in more desperate need of a fuck than anyone I've ever known.”

 

”... is sex all you ever think about?”

 

”No, but it's a common theme, sure,” Stiles says honestly.

 

Derek gives him a long, considering look, and Stiles is bracing himself for the pink slip, because he really does deserve it, and it probably wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Stiles really fucking hates what he does.

 

”You're way too overqualified for this job,” is what Derek says, and Stiles feels like he's getting whiplash from how unexpected it is.

 

”Bwuh?”

 

”One of the problems with this place is under-utilized workforce. You should be in development, not maintenance. I've seen your reports and your credentials.”

 

”Uhm. Okay?” Stiles is about to pinch himself, because what is even happening? Is Derek... _praising_ him?

 

”That's how I knew it was you, actually. When you gave me enough sentences to work with, I could almost hear your voice,” Derek says, strangely soft, and Stiles actually does pinch himself this time.

 

”How are... what's... I'm... _what?_ ”

 

Derek scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and Stiles feels like it's bizarro day or something. ”Look, this is gonna sound weird, but... you're an asshole and I'm an asshole and, I dunno, I always felt our... brands of asshole could be compatible, you know?”

 

”Uh... yeah. Yeah, I do know,” Stiles admits, and it's actually really nice that Derek felt it too, and it wasn't just Stiles' overactive imagination running wild. He definitely still has whiplash though, and it only gets worse, or maybe better, when Derek smiles at him, all soft and private in the sparsely populated cubicle-forest.

 

”How are you not hating me right now?” Stiles can't help but ask, and Derek shrugs.

 

”I deserved it a little bit. You're right, I could be nicer.” He narrows his eyes at Stiles. ”But you do owe me four sandwiches.”

 

”Yeah, no worries, I'll pay you back.”

 

”Maybe... start by taking me out to dinner? For some _strange_ reason I skipped lunch today.”

 

Stiles can feel a huge grin widening on his face, because Derek fucking Hale just asked him out. But even so, he can't help but poke the bear juuust that little bit more. ”You sure that's allowed? Didn't one of your memos say that employees should not date internally?”

 

”Yeah, but only in same departments. If I write a nice recommendation you'd be moved to Research and Development within a week. And I figure it should take you about that long to get me to put out.”

 

”Please,” Stiles says, manually shutting down his computer with little care for how the ancient thing groans at him for it. ”Like you can resist _all of this_ for a full week. I give it two days, tops,” he declares boldly and grabs his jacket.

 

”Haven't you realized yet that I _live_ to make life difficult for you peasants?” Derek asks, grinning wolfishly at him in a way that actually does make Stiles doubt his confidence for a moment, because he feels about a hair away from dropping to his knees and beg for whatever Derek will deign to give him.

 

”Oh yeah. But all it takes is one bold rebel to topple the evil overlord, haven't you heard?”

 

Derek's hand is a shock of warmth on Stiles' elbow as Derek guides him towards the stairs. ”Eh. I think you might have to work a little harder to convince me.”

 

”Challenge accepted. Also, I'm gonna teach you not to use comic sans ever again.”

 

“Fuck you, I like comic sans.”

 

“Dude, no, just no, and here's all the reasons why-”

 

The door clanks and swishes shut as they argue about fonts all the way down the stairs.

 

End.

 


End file.
